THE  PEOPLE  and 
CLOSE  THE  BOOK 

TWO  ONE-ACT  PLAYS 
BY  SUSAN  GLASPELL 

Author  of  "Trifles,"  Co-Author 

with  George  Cram  Cook  of 

"Suppressed  Desires." 


New  York: 

FRANK  SHAY 

1918 


The  People 

was  First  Produced  in  New  York 

by  the  Provincetown  Players  on 

November  18,  1917,  with 

the  Following  Cast: 

EDWARD  WILLS,  Editor  of  "The  People" 

GEORGE  CRAM  COOK 

OSCAR  TRIPP,  Associate  Editor PENDLETON  KING 

THE  ARTIST DONALD  CORLEY 

SARA NINA  MOISE 

TOM  HOWE,  printer   LEWIS  B.  ELL 

The  Boy  from  Georgia LESLIE  C.  BEMIS 

The  Man  from  the  Cape IRA  REMSEN 

The  Woman  from  Idaho   SUSAN  GLASPELL 

The  Earnest  Approach   LEW  PARRISH 

The  Light  Touch  PIERRE  LOVING 

The  Anarchist   .'.*•  /.';...... HARRY  KEMP 

The  Philosopher . .  . .  ... HUTCHINSON  COLLINS 

Produced  under  the  direction  of  Nina  Moise 
Copyright  1918,  by  Frank  Shay 


The  professional  and  amateur  stage  rights  on  these 
plays  are  reserved  by  the  author.  Application  to 
produce  THE  PEOPLE  and  CLOSE  THE  BOOK  should 
be  made  to  Miss  Glaspell,  care  The  Provincetown 
Players,  139  Macdougal  Street,  New  York. 


The  People 


SCENE  :  The  office  of  "The  People"  —  a  desk,  a  table  on 
which  are  manuscripts  and  magazines.  On  the  walls  are  revo 
lutionary  posters.  Wads  of  paper  are  thrown  about  on  the  floor 
—  the  office  of^a  publication  which  is  radical  and  poor.  The 
curtain  shows  QSCAR  at  one  end  of  table  writing.  There  is  a 
door  rear,  door  left.  Enter  rear,  TOM  HOWE,  a  galley-proof 
m  his  hand. 

TOM:   Why  are  you  writing?  x 

OSCAR  (Jauntily)  :   Because  I  am  a  writer. 
TOM:  But  I  thought  you  said  there  wasn't  going  to  be  an 
other  issue  of  "The  People" 

OSCAR  (  With  dignity  )  :    I  am  writing. 

TOM  :  There's  a  woman  here  with  a  suit  case. 

OSCAR:  What's  in  it? 

TOM  :   She  wants  to  see  the  Editor. 

OSCAR  (After  writing  a  minute)  :  All  right. 

(Exit  Tom,  enter  woman  with  suit  case.  She  is  middle  aged, 
wears  plain  clothes  not  in  fashion.  Her  manner  is  a  little  shrink 
ing  and  yet  as  she  stands  in  the  doorway  looking  about  the 
bare  room,  her  face  is  the  face  of  one  who  has  come  a  long  way 
and  reached  a  wonderful  place. 

THE  WOMAN  :  This  is  the  office  of  "The  People  "f 

OSCAR:  Urn-hum. 

THE  WOMAN  (In  a  bated  way)  :  I  came  to  see  the  author 
of  those  wonderful  words. 

OSCAR  (Rising)  :  Which  wonderful  words? 

THE  WOMAN:  About  moving  toward  the  beautiful  dis 
tances. 

OSCAR:  Oh.  Those  are  Mr.  Wills'  wonderful  words. 
(Begins  to  write  as  one  who  has  lost  interest) 

THE  WOMAN:  Could  I  see  him? 

OSCAR:  He  isn't  here  yet.  He's  just  back  from  California. 
Won't  be  at  the  office  till  a  little  later. 


383528 


4  THE  PROVINCETOWN  PLAYS 

THE  WOMAN  (In  a  manner  of  repressed  excitement)  :  He 
has  been  to  California?  He  has  just  ridden  across  this  country? 

OSCAR  :  Yes.   Long  trip.   He  was  very  cross  over  the  'phone. 

THE  WOMAN  (Pained)  :  Oh — no.   I  think  you're  mistaken. 

OSCAR  :  Anything  you  care  to  see  me  about  ? 

THE  WOMAN  (After  considering)  :  I  could  see  him  a  little 
later,  couldn't  I? 

OSCAR:  Yes,  if  it's  important.  Of  course  he'll  be  very  busy. 

THE  WOMAN:  It  is  important.  At  least — yes,  it  is  im 
portant. 

OSCAR:   Very  well  then — later  in  the  morning. 

THE  WOMAN  (Thinking  aloud)  :  I  will  stand  down  on  the 
street  and  watch  the  people  go  by. 

OSCAR:   What? 

THE  WOMAN:  The  people.  It's  so  wonderful  to  see  them — 
so  many  of  them.  Don't  you  often  just  stand  and  watch  them? 

OSCAR:  No,  madam,  not  often.  I  am  too  busy  editing  a 
magazine  about  them. 

THE  WOMAN  :  Of  course  you  are  busy.  You  help  edit 
this  magazine?  (Looks  about  at  the  posters) 

OSCAR:    I  am  associate  editor  of  "The  People." 

THE  WOMAN:  That's  a  great  thing  for  you — and  you  so 
young.  Does  Mr.  Wills  write  in  this  room  ? 

OSCAR  :  That  is  his  desk. 

THE  WOMAN  (Looking  at  the  desk)  :  It  must  be  a  wonder 
ful  thing  for  you  to  write  in  the  same  room  with  him. 

OSCAR  :  Well,  I  don't  know ;  perhaps  it  is  a  wonderful  thing 
for  him  to — I  am  Oscar  Tripp,  the  poet. 

THE  WOMAN  (Wistfully)  :  It  would  be  beautiful  to  be  a 
poet.  (Pause)  I  will  come  back  later.  (Picks  up  suit  case) 

OSCAR:  Just  leave  that  if  you  aren't  going  to  be  using  it  in 
the  meantime. 

THE  WOMAN  (Putting  it  down  near  the  door)  :  Oh,  thank 
you.  I  see  that  you  are  a  kind  young  man. 

OSCAR  :  That  is  not  the  general  opinion. 

THE  WOMAN  :  I  wonder  why  it  is  that  the  general  opinion 
is  so  often  wrong?  (Stands  considering  it  for  a  moment,  then 
goes  out) 

OSCAR:    I  don't  quite  understand  that  woman. 

(Enter  Tom  Howe,  printer) 


TWO  PLAYS  BY  SUSAN  GLASPELL  5 

TOM  :  If  this  paper  can't  go  on,  I  ought  to  know  it.  I  could 
get  a  job  on  the  Evening  World.  (Oscar  continues  writing) 
Can  it  go  on  ? 

OSCAR:  I  don't  see  how  it  can,  but  many  a  time  I  haven't 
seen  how  it  could — and  it  did.  Doubtless  it  will  go  on,  and 
will  see  days  so  much  worse  than  these  that  we  will  say,  "Ah, 
the  good  old  days  of  March,  1917." 

TOM  :   But  can  it  pay  salaries  ? 

OSCAR  (Shocked)  :  Oh,  no,  I  think  not;  but  we  must  work 
because  we  love  our  work. 

TOM  :  We  must  eat  because  we  love  our  food. 

OSCAR:  You'll  know  soon.  There's  to  be  a  meeting  here 
this  morning. 

(Enter  Sara.  Tom  goes  out.  Sara  is  dressed  like  a  young 
business  woman  and  has  the  simple  direct  manner  of  a  woman 
who  is  ready  to  work  for  a  thing  she  believes  in) 

SARA:   Ed  not  here  yet? 

OSCAR  :    No. 

SARA:   Did  he  get  any  money? 

OSCAR:  Doesn't  look  like  it.  He  was  snappish  over  the 
phone.  Guess  he's  for  giving  it  up  this  time. 

SARA:  I  don't  want  to  give  it  up.  (She  sits  at  the  table  and 
unfolds  a  manuscript  she  has  brought  with  her) 

OSCAR  :  Well,  it's  not  what  we  want,  it's  what  people  want, 
and  there  aren't  enough  of  them  who  want  us. 

SARA  :  The  fault  must  lie  with  us. 

OSCAR  :  I  don't  think  so.  The  fault  lies  with  the  failure  to — 
(the  artist  has  entered) 

THE  ARTIST:  I'll  tell  you  where  the  fault  lies.  We  should 
give  more  space  to  pictures  and  less  to  stupid  reading  matter. 
(Takes  a  seat  at  the  table) 

OSCAR:  We  have  given  too  much  expensive  white  paper  to 
pictures  and  too  little  to  reading  matter — especially  to  poetry. 
That's  where  the  fault  lies.  (Enter  Edward  Wills,  editor) 

ED:  I'll  tell  you  where  the  fault  lies.  (Points  first  to  the 
artist,  then  to  Oscar)  Here!  Just  this!  Everybody  plugging 
for  his  own  thing.  Nobody  caring  enough  about  the  thing  as  a 
whole. 

OSCAR  (Rising)  :  I'll  tell  you  where  the  fault  lies.  (Points 
to  Ed.)  Here!  This.  The  Editor-in-chief  returning  from  a 


0  THE  PROVINCETOWN  PLAYS 

long  trip  and  the  first  golden  words  th.it  fall  from  his  lips  arc 
words  of  censure  for  his  faithful  subordinates. 

SARA:    How  arc  you  Fd  ? 

Kr»:    Rotten.    1  hate-  sleeping  cars.    I  always  catch  cold. 

SARA:    Any  luck5 

ED  (His  hand  around  his  <::r\  :  What's  the  word? 

(Enter  The  Earnest  Appro*, 

KARNKSI  ArrKO.u'H  :  1  have  heard  that  you  may  have  to 
discontinue. 

ED  (Sitting  doicn  at  his  desk,  beginning  to  look  through  his 
mail) :  It  seems  we  might  as  well. 

FvRM-sr  ArrRo.-wu:  Now  just  let  me  tell  you  what  the 
trouble  has  been  and  how  >ou  can  remedy  it%  "The  People"  has 
been  atraul  of  being  serious.  Init  you  deal  with  ideas,  and  you 
must  do  it  soberly.  There  is  a  place  for  a  good  earnest  journal 
of  piotest.  but  all  this  levity-  this  footing  -(Kr:tc-r  /—•'.-.' 
Touch) 

1  K;HT  TOUCH:  Came  in  to  see  you,  Ed,  to  say  I  hope  the 
news  I'm  hearing  isn't  true. 

ED:  If  it's  bad,  it's  true. 

LIGHT  TOUCH:    Well,  it's  an  awful  pity,  but  you've  been 

too  damn  serious.    A  lighter  touch     that's  what  "The  People"9 

You're   as   heavy    .is   mud.     Tiy    it    awhile    \     .        along 

frivolous  lines.  I  was  in  the  building  and  just  ran  in  to  let  you 

have  my  idea  of  what's  the  matter  with  you. 

O<V\K:  It  we  had  as  mam  subscribers  as  we  have  people  to 
tell  us  what's  the  matter  with  us—  (Enter  Philospher  and 
Anarchist,  Printer  follows  them  inf  a  page  of  manuscript  in  his 
*,:»./) 

EDI  Now  the  Philosopher  and  Anarchist  will  tell  us  what's 
the  matter  with  us. 

ANARCHIST:  Too  damn  bourgeois!  You  should  print  on  the 
cover  of  every  issue — "To  hell  with  the  bourgeoisie!  Pigs!'* 

PHILOSOPHER:  The  trouble  with  this  paper  is  efficiency. 
(They  start  to  rise  in  their  chairs.  The  Printer  falls  back 
against  the  wall,  then  staggers  out  of  the  room) 

ED:  Dear  God!  There  are  things  it  seems  to  me  I  can  not 
bear. 

PHU.OSOPHFR:  It  should  be  more  carelessly  done,  and  then 
it  would  be  more  perfectly  done.  You  should  be  less  definite. 


TWO  PLAYS  BY  SUSAN  GLASPELL  7 

and  you  would  have  more  definiteness.  You  should  not  know 
what  it  is  you  want,  and  then  you  would  find  what  you  arc 
after. 

OSCAR:  You  talk  as  if  we  had  not  been  a  success.  But  just 
last  night  I  heard  of  a  woman  in  Bronxville  who  keeps  "The 
People"  under  her  bed  so  her  husband  won't  know  she's  read 
ing  it. 

ANARCHIST:  If  you  had  been  a  success  you  would  have  fired 
that  woman  with  so  great  a  courage  that  she  would  proudly 
prop  "The  People''  on  the  pillow! 

ARTIST  (Who  is  sketching  the  Anarchist)  :  It  was  my  pic 
tures  got  us  under  the  bed. 

OSCAR  (Ilattghitily)  :  1  was  definitely  told  it  was  my  last 
"Talk  with  Ciod"  put  us  under  the  bed. 

ANARCHIST:  Can  you  not  see  that  she  puts  you  under  the 
bed  because  you  yourselves  have  made  concessions  to  the  bour 
geoisie  ?  Cows !  Geese ! 

ARTIST  (Who  has  been  sketching  the  Anarchist}  :  It  should 
print  more  pictures. 

OSCAR:  It  must  print  more  poetry.  (They  glare  at  one 
another) 

EARNEST  APPROACH:   It  should  be  more  serious. 

LIGHT  TOUCH  :   It  should  be  more  frivolous. 

(Enter  the  Boy  from  Georgia — dressed  like  a  freshman  with 
a  good  allowance) 

THE  BOY:   Is  this  the  office  of  "The  People"? 

OSCAR:    No,  this  is  a  lunatic  asylum. 

THE  BOY  (After  a  bewildered  moment)  :  Oh,  you're  joking. 
You  know  (confidentially),  I  wondered  about  that — whether 
you  would  joke  here.  I  thought  you  would. (Stepping  fonvard) 
I  came  to  see  the  Editor — I  want  to  tell  him — 

ED:  So  many  people  are  telling  me  so  many  things,  could  you 
tell  yours  a  little  later? 

THE  BOY:  Oh,  yes.  Of  course  there  must  be  many  impor 
tant  things  people  have  to  tell  you. 

ED:    Well — many.     (Boy  goes  out  rear — reluctantly) 

ARTIST  (Who  has  all  the  time  been  glaring  at  Oscar): 
Speaking  for  the  artists,  I  want  to  say  right  now— 

OSCAR:  Speaking  for  the  writers,  1  wish  to  say  before  we  go 
further — 


8  THE  PROVINCE-TOWN  PLAYS 

EARNEST  APPROACH  :   A  more  serious  approach — 

LIGHT  TOUCH  :   A  lighter  touch — 

ANARCHIST:    Speaking  for  the  Anarchists — 

PHILOSOPHER:   Speaking  for  the  truth — 

(Phone  rings,  Oscar  answers.  Enter  The  Man  from  the 
Cape — slow,  heavy) 

ED:    You  have  come  to  tell  us  something  about  this  paper? 

THE  MAN:   Yes. 

ED:  There  are  a  number  ahead  of  you.  Will  you  wait  your 
turn?  (A  look  of  disappointment)  I'll  be  glad  to  see  you  as 
soon  as  I  can.  There  in  the  outside  office?  (Motioning  door 
rear) 

(A  moment  The  Man  stands  there,  a  mute  ponderous  figure, 
then  very  slowly  goes  out) 

OSCAR  (Hanging  up  receiver)  :  Moritz  Paper  Company 
Bill  got  to  be  paid  today.  And  here — (Takes  from  his  drawer 
a  huge  packet  of  bills) 

EARNEST  APPROACH  :  You  could  pay  your  bills  if  you  were 
not  afraid  to  be  serious! 

LIGHT  TOUCH:  You  could  pay  your  bills  if  you  were  not 
afraid  to  be  gay ! 

EARNEST  APPROACH  (From  the  door,  very  solemnly)  :  A 
more  earnest  approach  would  save  "The  People." 

LIGHT  TOUCH:   A  lighter  touch  would  turn  the  trick! 

(Exeunt) 

ANARCHIST  (Going  over  and  pounding  on  Editor  s  desk)  : 
To  hell  with  the  bourgeoisie !  Apes ! 

PHILOSOPHER:   Efficiency  has  put  out  the  spark. 

ED:  Well,  as  long  as  the  spark  appears  to  be  good  and  out, 
may  I,  in  the  name  of  efficiency,  ask  you  who  do  not  belong  here 
to  retire,  that  we  may  go  ahead  with  our  work  ? 

PHILOSOPHER:  There  would  be  greater  efficiency  in  our 
remaining.  There  would  be  form.  You  have  lacked  form. 

ANARCHIST:   You  have  lacked  courage!   Donkeys! 

ED  :  It  would  be  illuminating,  Leo,  to  hear  you  run  through 
the  animal  kingdom — toads,  crocodiles,  a  number  of  things  you 
haven't  mentioned  yet,  but  the  animal  kingdom  is  large — and 
we  have  work  to  do. 


TWO  PLAYS  BY  SUSAN  GLASPELL  9 

PHILOSOPHER:  You  lack  form  in  your  work.  By  form  I 
do  not  mean  what  you  think  I  mean.  I  mean  that  particular 
significance  of  the  insignificant  which  is  the  fundamental — 

ED  :  We  couldn't  understand  it.  Why  tell  us  ? 

PHILOSOPHER:  No  (Goes  to  door):  You  couldn't  under 
stand  it.  (Exit) 

ANARCHIST:  Rest  in  peace.  (Gesture  of  benediction.  Then 
from  the  door,  hissingly)  :  Centipedes!  (Exit,  all  laugh) 

ED:   What's  the  matter  with  us  is  our  friends. 

SARA  (Quietly)  :  Well,  to  be  or  not  to  be.  I  guess  it's  up 
to  you,  Ed. 

ED:  Just  what  would  we  be  going  on  for?  To  make  a  few 
more  people  like  the  dear  ones  who  have  just  left  us?  Seems  to 
me  we  could  best  serve  society  by  not  doing  that.  Precisely 
what  do  we  do?  — aside  from  getting  under  the  bed  in  Bronx- 
ville.  Now  and  then  something  particularly  rotten  is  put  over 
and  we  have  a  story  that  gets  a  rise  out  of  a  few  people,  but — 
we  don't  change  any  thing. 

SARA  :  We  had  another  hope.  We  were  going  to  express  our 
selves  so  simply  and  so  truly  that  we  would  be  expressing  the 
people. 

ED  (Wearily)  :  The  People.  I  looked  at  them  all  the  way 
across  this  continent.  Oh,  I  got  so  tired  looking  at  them — on 
farms,  in  towns,  in  cities.  They're  like  toys  that  you  wind  up 
and  they'll  run  awhile.  They  don't  want  to  be  expressed.  It 
would  topple  them  over.  The  longer  I  looked  the  more  ridic 
ulous  it  seemed  to  me  that  we  should  be  giving  our  lives  to — 
(picks  up  the  magazine  and  reads)  "The  People — A  Journal 
of  the  Social  Revolution."  Certainly  we'd  better  cut  the  sub 
title.  The  social  revolution  is  dead. 

OSCAR:  You  don't  think  you  are  bringing  back  any  news, 
do  you,  Ed? 

ARTIST  (Takes  up  magazine)  :  Instead  of  a  sub-title  we  could 
have  a  design.  Much  better.  (Glares  at  Oscar,  then  begins  to 
draw) 

SARA  :  This  is  a  long  way  from  what  you  felt  a  year  ago,  Ed. 
You  had  vision  then. 

ED:  You  can't  keep  vision  in  this  office.  It's  easy  enough  to 
have  a  beautiful  feeling  about  the  human  race  when  none  of  it  is 
around.  The  trouble  about  doing  anything  for  your  fellow- 


IO  THE  PROVING ETOWN  PLAYS 

man  is  that  you  have  to  do  it  with  a  few  of  them.  Oh,  of 
course  that  isn't  fair.  We  care.  I'll  say  that  for  us.  Even 
Oscar  cares,  or  he  wouldn't  work  the  way  he  has.  But  what 
does  our  caring  come  to?  It  doesn't  connect  up  with  anything, 
and  God  knows  it  doesn't  seem  to  be  making  anything  very 
beautiful  of  us.  There's  something  rather  pathetic  about  us. 

OSCAR:   Or  is  it  merely  ridiculous? 

SARA  :  Let  me  read  you  something,  Ed.  ( Takes  up  magazine, 
reads  very  simply)  "We  are  living  now.  We  shall  not  be  living 
long.  No  one  can  tell  us  we  shall  live  again.  This  is  our  little 
while.  This  is  our  chance.  And  we  take  it  like  a  child  who 
comes  from  a  dark  room  to  which  he  must  return — comes  for 
one  sunny  afternoon  to  a  lovely  hillside,  and  finding  a  hole, 
crawls  in  there  till  after  the  sun  is  set.  I  want  that  child  to 
know  the  sun  is  shining  upon  flowers  in  the  grass.  I  want  him 
to  know  it  before  he  has  to  go  back  to  the  room  that  is  dark.  I 
wish  I  had  pipes  to  call  him  to  the  hilltop  of  beautiful  distances. 
I  myself  could  see  further  if  he  were  seeing  at  all.  Perhaps  I 
can  call  you;  you  who  have  dreamed  and  dreaming  know,  and 
knowing  care.  Move!  Move  from  the  things  that  hold  you. 
If  you  move,  others  will  move.  Come!  Now.  Before  the  sun 
goes  down."  (Very  quietly)  You  wrote  that,  Ed. 

ED  :  Yes,  I  wrote  it ;  and  do  you  want  to  know  why  I  wrote 
it?  I  wrote  it  because  I  was  sore  at  Oscar  and  wanted  to  write 
something  to  make  him  feel  ashamed  of  himself. 

(While  Sara  is  reading,  The  Woman  has  appeared  at  the 
door,  has  moved  a  few  steps  into  the  room  as  if  drawn  by  the 
words  she  is  hearing.  Behind  her  are  seen  the  Boy  from  Georgia, 
The  Man  from  the  Cape.) 

THE  WOMAN  (Moving  forward)  :  I  don't  believe  that's 
true!  I  don't  believe  that's  true!  Maybe  you  think  that's  why 
you  wrote  it,  but  it's  not  the  reason.  You  wrote  it  because  it's 
the  living  truth,  and  it  moved  in  you  and  you  had  to  say  it. 

ED  (Rising)  :  Who  are  you? 

THE  WOMAN  :  I  am  one  of  the  people.  I  have  lived  a  long 
way  off.  I  heard  that  call  and — I  had  to  come. 

THE  BOY  (Blithely)  :  I've  come  too.  I'm  from  Georgia. 
I  read  it,  and  I  didn't  want  to  stay  at  school  any  longer.  I  said, 
"I  want  something  different  and  bigger — something  more  like 
this."  I  heard  about  your  not  being  able  to  sell  your  paper  on 


TWO  PLAYS  BY  SUSAN  GLASPELL  1 1 

the  newsstands  just  because  lots  of  people  don't  want  anything 
different  and  bigger,  and  I  said  to  myself,  "I'll  sell  the  paper! 
I'll  go  and  sell  it  on  the  streets!"  And  I  got  so  excited  about 
it  that  I  did'nt  even  wait  for  the  dance.  There  was  a  dance  that 
night,  and  I  had  my  girl  too. 

THE  WOMAN:   He  didn't  even  wait  for  the  dance. 

OSCAR:  The  idealists  are  calling  upon  the  intellectuals,  and 
"calling"  them. 

ED  ( To  The  Man )  :  And  what  did  you  leave,  my  friend  ? 

THE  MAN  (Heavily)  :  My  oyster  bed.  I'm  from  the  Cape. 
1  had  a  chance  to  go  in  on  an  oyster  bed.  I  read  what  you  wrote 
— a  woman  who  had  stopped  in  an  automobile  left  it,  and  I  said 
to  myself,  "I'm  nothing  but  an  oyster  myself.  Guess  I'll  come 
to  life." 

ED:   But — what  did  you  come  here  for? 

THE  MAN  :   Well — for  the  rest  of  it. 

ED:   The  rest  of  what? 

THE  MAN:   The  rest  of  what  you've  got. 

THE  BOY:  Yes — that's  it;  we've  come  for  the  rest  of  what 
you've  got. 

OSCAR:  This  is  awkward  for  Ed. 

THE  WOMAN  :  Give  it  to  us. 

ED:  What? 

THE  WOMAN  :  The  rest  of  it. 

ED  (An  instant's  pause}  :  I  haven't  got  anything  more  to 
give. 

THE  BOY:  But  you  made  us  think  you  had.  You  led  us  to 
believe  you  had. 

THE  WOMAN  :  And  you  have.  If  you  hadn't  more  to  give, 
you  couldn't  have  given  that. 

OSCAR:   Very  awkward. 

THE  WOMAN  :  You  said  — "I  call  to  you.  You  who  have 
dreamed,  and  dreaming  know,  and  knowing  care."  Well,  three 
of  us  are  here.  From  the  South  and  the  East  and  the  West 
we've  come  because  you  made  us  want  something  we  didn't 
have,  made  us  want  it  so  much  we  had  to  move  the  way  we 
thought  was  toward  it — before  the  sun  goes  down. 

THE  BOY:  We  thought  people  here  had  life — something 
different  and  bigger. 

OSCAR:   Perhaps  we'd  better  go.   Poor  Ed. 


12  THE  PROVINCETOWN  PLAYS 

ED:   I  wish  you'd  shut  up,  Oscar. 

THE  WOMAN:   I  know  you  will  give  it  to  us. 

ED:   Give  what  to  you? 

THE  WOMAN:  What  you  have  for  the  people.  (Oscar 
coughs)  What  you  made  us  know  we  need. 

OSCAR:  You  shouldn't  have  called  personally.  You  should 
have  sent  in  your  needs  by  mail. 

ED  :  Oscar,  try  and  act  as  if  you  had  a  soul. 

THE  WOMAN:  I  think  he  really  has.  (A  look  at  Oscar — 
then,  warmly)  :  At  least  he  has  a  heart.  It's  only  that  he  feels 
he  must  be  witty.  But  you — you're  not  going  to  let  us  just  go 
away  again,  are  you?  He  gave  up  his  oyster  bed,  and  this  boy 
didn't  even  wait  for  the  dance,  and  me — I  gave  up  my  tomb 
stone. 

ED:  Your — ? 

THE  WOMAN  :  Yes — tombstone.  It  had  always  been  a 
saying  in  our  family — "He  won't  even  have  a  stone  to  mark 
his  grave."  They  said  it  so  much  and  so  solemnly  that  I  thought 
it  meant  something.  I  sew — plain  sewing,  but  I've  often  said  to 
myself  — "Well,  at  least  I'll  have  a  stone  to  mark  my  grave." 
And  then,  there  was  a  man  who  had  been  making  speeches  to 
the  miners — I  live  in  a  town  in  Idaho — and  he  had  your  mag 
azine,  and  he  left  it  in  the  store,  and  the  storekeeper  said  to  me, 
when  I  went  there  for  thread  — "Here,  you  like  to  read. 
Don't  you  want  this?  I  wish  you  would  take  it  away,  because 
if  some  folks  in  this  town  see  it,  they'll  think  I'm  not  all  I 
should  be."  He  meant  the  cover. 

ARTIST  (Brightening)  :  That  was  my  cover. 

THE  WOMAN  (After  a  smile  at  The  Artist)  :  So  I  took  it 
home,  and  when  my  work  was  done  that  night,  I  read  your 
wonderful  words.  They're  like  a  spring — if  you've  lived  in  a 
dry  country,  you'll  know  what  I  mean.  And  they  made  me 
know  that  my  tombstone  was  as  dead  as — well,  (with  a  little 
laugh)  as  dead  as  a  tombstone.  So  I  had  to  have  something  to 
take  its  place. 

SARA  (Rising  and  going  to  The  Woman)  :  Talk  to  him. 
Tell  him  about  it.  Come,  Oscar! 

BOY  FROM  GEORGIA:  As  long  as  there  seems  to  be  so  much 
uncertainty  about  this,  perhaps  I'd  better  telegraph  father.  You 
see,  the  folks  don't  know  where  I  am.  I  just  came. 


TWO  PLAYS  BY  SUSAN  GLASPELL  13 

THE  WOMAN  :   He  didn't  even  stay  for  the  dance. 

BOY  FROM  GEORGIA:  I'll  be  glad  to  sell  the  papers.  (Seeing 
a  pile  of  them  on  the  table)  Here,  shall  I  take  these? —  and  I'll 
stop  people  on  the  street  and  tell  why  I'm  selling  them. 

OSCAR:   No,  you  can't  do  that.   You'd  be  arrested. 

THE  WOMAN:  Let  him  sell  them.  What's  the  difference 
about  the  law,  if  you  have  the  right  idea  ? 

OSCAR  :  The  right  idea  has  given  us  trouble  enough  already. 

THE  MAN  :   There's  something  sure  about  an  oyster  bed. 

OSCAR:  You  come  with  me  and  have  a  drink.  Something 
sure  about  that  too. 

THE  WOMAN  :   He  could  have  had  a  drink  at  home. 

SARA  (To  Artist)  :  Coming,  Joe?  (To  The  Boy)  :  It  was 
corking  of  you  to  want  to  help  us.  We  must  talk  about —  (All 
go  out  except  The  Woman  and  The  Editor)  .  .  (A  Pause) 

THE  WOMAN  :   I  am  sorry  for  you. 

ED:   Why? 

THE  WOMAN  (Feeling  her  way  and  sadly)  :  Because  you 
have  the  brain  to  say  those  things,  and  not  the  spirit  to  believe 
them.  I  couldn't  say  them,  and  yet  I've  got  something  you 
haven't  got.  (With  more  sureness)  Because  I  know  the  thing 
you  said  was  true. 

ED:   Will  you  sit  down? 

THE  WOMAN:  No — I'll  go.  (Stands  there  uncertainly) 
I  don't  know  why  I  should  be  disappointed.  I  suppose  it's  not 
fair  to  ask  you  to  be  as  big  as  the  truth  you  saw.  Why  should 
I  expect  you  would  be? 

ED:   I'm  sorry.   I  suppose  now  you'll  regret  your  tombstone. 

THE  WOMAN:  No — it  was  wonderful  to  ride  across  this 
country  and  see  all  the  people.  The  train  moving  along  seemed 
to  make  something  move  in  me.  I  had  thoughts  not  like  any 
thoughts  I'd  ever  had  before — your  words  like  a  spring  break 
ing  through  the  dry  country  of  my  mind.  I  thought  of  how  you 
call  your  paper  "A  Journal  of  The  Social  Revolution,"  and  I 
said  to  myself — This  is  the  Social  Revolution!  Knowing 
that  your  tombstone  doesn't  matter!  Seeing — that's  the  Social 
Revolution. 

ED  :   Seeing —  ? 

THE  WOMAN  (As  if  it  is  passing  before  her)  :  A  plain, 
dark  trees  off  at  the  edge,  against  the  trees  a  little  house  and  a 


14  THE  PROVINCETOWN  PLAYS 

big  barn.  A  flat  piece  of  land  fenced  in.  Stubble,  furrows. 
Horses  waiting  to  get  in  at  barn ;  cows  standing  around  a  pump. 
A  tile  yard,  a  water  tank,  one  straight  street  of  a  little  town. 
The  country  so  still  it  seemed  dead.  The  trees  like — hopes  that 
have  been  given  up.  The  grave  yards — on  hills — they  come  so 
fast.  I  noticed  them  first  because  of  my  tombstone,  but  I  got 
to  thinking  about  the  people — the  people  who  spent  their  whole 
lives  right  near  the  places  where  they  are  now.  There's  some 
thing  in  the  thought  of  them — like  the  cows  standing  around 
the  pump.  So  still,  so  patient,  it — kind  of  hurts.  And  their 
pleasures :  — a  flat  field  fenced  in.  Your  great  words  carried  me 
to  other  great  words.  I  thought  of  Lincoln,  and  what  he  said 
of  a  few  of  the  dead.  I  said  it  over  and  over.  I  said  things  and 
didn't  know  the  meaning  of  them  'till  after  I  had  said  them. 
I  said — "The  truth — the  truth — the  truth  that  opens  from  our 
lives  as  water  opens  from  the  rocks."  Then  I  knew  what  that 
truth  was.  (Pause,  with  an  intensity  peculiarly  simple)  :  "Let 
us  here  highly  resolve  that  these  dead  shall  not  have  died  in 
vain."  I  mean — all  of  them.  (A  gesture,  wide,  loving)  Let 
life  become  what  it  may  become!  — so  beautiful  that  every 
thing  that  is  back  of  us  is  worth  everything  it  cost. 

(Enter  Tom,  Printer) 

TOM:  I've  got — (feeling  something  strange)  :  Sorry  to  butt 
in,  but  I  can  still  get  that  job  on  The  Evening  World.  If  this 
paper  is  going  to  stop,  I've  got  to  know  it. 

ED:   Stop!  This  paper  can't  stop! 

TOM  :  Can't  stop !    Last  I  heard,  it  couldn't  do  anything  else. 

ED:  That  was — long  ago. 

TOM  :  Oh — you've  got  something  to  go  on  with  ? 

ED  :  Yes,  something  to  go  on  with. 

TOM:  I  see.  (Looks  at  woman,  as  if  he  didn't  see,  glances 
at  her  suit  case)  :  I'm  glad.  But — I've  got  to  be  sure.  This — 
is  the  truth  ? 

ED:  The  truth.  The  truth  that  opens  from  our  lives  as 
water  opens  from  the  rocks.  (Tom  backs  up) 

THE  WOMAN  (Turning  a  shining  face  to  the  printer)-. 
Nobody  really  needs  a  tombstone! 

CURTAIN 


Close  the  Book 

As  produced  by  the  Provincetown  Players, 
New  York  City 

CAST 

JHANSI EDITH  UNGER 

PEYTON  ROOT,  an  instructor  in  the  University.  .  .JAMES  LIGHT 

MRS.  ROOT,  Peyton's  Mother SUSAN  GLASPELL 

MRS.  PEYTON,  his  Grandmother CLARA  SAVAGE 

UNCLE  GEORGE  PEYTON,  Presidennt  of  the  Board  of  Regents 

JUSTUS  SHEFFIELD 

BESSIE  ROOT ALICE  MACDOUGAL 

STATE  SENATOR  BYRD DAVID  CARB 

MRS.  STATE  SENATOR  BYRD ESTHER  PINCH 

PLACE — A  Univerisity  Town 
TIME — Today 

SCENE  :  The  library  in  the  Root  home,  the  library  of  middle- 
western  people  who  are  an  important  family  in  their  community, 
and  who  think  of  themselves  as  people  of  culture.  It  is  a  room, 
which  shows  pride  of  family:  on  the  rear  wall  are  two  large 
family  portraits — one  a  Revolutionary  soldier,  the  other  a  man 
of  a  later  period.  On  the  low  book-cases,  to  both  sides  of  door 
rear,  and  on  the  mantel,  right,  are  miniatures  and  other  old 
pictures.  There  is  old  furniture — mahogany  recently  done 
over:  an  easy  chair  near  the  fireplace,  a  divan  left.  A  Winged 
Victory  presides  over  one  of  the  book-cases,  a  Burne  Jones  is 
hung.  It  is  a  warmly  lighted,  cheerful  room — books  and  flowers 
about.  In  addition  to  the  rear  door,  opening  on  a  hall,  there  is 
a  door  left,  and  right  a  corner  window.  The  curtain  discloses 
JHANSI  and  PEYTON  on  the  divan,  MRS.  ROOT  about  to  leave 
through  the  door  rear.  JHANSI  is  piquant,  dressed  as  a  non 
conformist,  but  attractively.  Her  dress  should  further  the  idea 
of  her  being  a  gypsy,  but  the  whole  should  be  charming  and  not 


1 6  THE  PROVINCETOWN  PLAYS 

bizarre.  PEYTON  is  a  rather  helpless  young  man,  with  a  sense  of 
humor  that  is  itself  rather  helpless,  dry,  a  little  awkward,  yet 
whimsical. 

MRS.  ROOT  :  I'll  see,  Peyton,  if  your  grandmother  isn't  ready 
to  come  down.  (Exit) 

JHANSI  (Springing  up)  :  It's  absurd  that  I  should  be  here! 

PEYTON:  I  know,  Jhansi,  but  just  this  once — as  long  as  it 
means  so  much  to  mother,  and  doesn't  really  hurt  us. 

JHANSI  :  But  it  does  hurt  me,  Peyton.  These  walls  stifle  me. 
You  come  of  people  who  have  been  walled  in  all  their  lives. 
It  doesn't  cage  you.  But  me — I  am  a  gypsy!  Sometimes  I  feel 
them  right  behind  me — all  those  wanderers,  people  who  were 
never  caught;  feel  them  behind  me  pushing  me  away  from  all 
this! 

PEYTON  :  But  not  pushing  you  away  from  me,  dear.  You 
love  me,  Jhansi,  in  spite  of  my  family? 

JHANSI:  If  I  did'nt  love  you  do  you  think  I  could  endure  to 
come  to  this  dreadful  place?  (a  look  abaut  the  well-furnished 
room) — and  meet  these  dreadful  people?  Forgive  me  for  al 
luding  to  your  home  and  family,  Peyton,  but  I  must  not  lose 
my  honesty,  you  know. 

PEYTON:  No,  dear;  I  don't  think  you  are  losing  it.  And 
perhaps  I'd  better  not  lose  mine  either.  There's  one  thing  I 
haven't  mentioned  yet.  (Hesitates)  Mr.  Peyton  is  coming  to 
dinner  tonight. 

JHANSI:   Mr.  Peyton.   What  Peyton? 

PEYTON  :  Yes — that  one. 

JHANSI:  And  you  ask  me — standing  for  the  things  I  do  in 
this  university — to  sit  down  to  dinner  wih  the  president  of  the 
board  of  regents! 

PEYTON:    Mother'd  asked  him  before  I  knew  it. 

JHANSI  (With  scorn)  :  Your  uncle! 

PEYTON  :  He's  not  my  uncle — he's  mother's.  And  you  see  it's 
partly  on  account  of  grandmother  just  getting  back  from  Cali 
fornia.  He's  grandmother's  brother-in-law,  you  know.  I  suppose 
she  doesn't  realize  what  it  means  to  have  to  sit  down  to  dinner 
with  him — she's  done  it  so  much.  And  then  mother  thought 
it  would  be  nice  for  you  to  meet  him. 

JHANSI:   Nice! 


TWO  PLAYS  BY  SUSAN  GLASPELL  17 

PEYTON:    He's  pleasant  at  dinner. 

JHANSI:  Pleasant! 

PEYTON  :  Mother's  a  little  worried  about  my  position  in  the 
university. 

JHANSI  :  It  would  be  wonderful  for  you  to  lose  your  position 
in  the  university. 

PEYTON  :    Yes — wonderful. 

JHANSI  :  And  then  you  and  I  could  walk  forth  free ! 

PEYTON:    Free — but  broke. 

JHANSI:  Peyton,  you  disappoint  me.  Just  the  fact  that  that 
man  is  coming  to  dinner  changes  you. 

PEYTON  :  Oh,  no.  But  you  are  fortunately  situated,  Jhansi 
having  no  people.  It's  easier  to  be  free  when  there's  nobody 
who  minds. 

JHANSI:   I  am  going! 

PEYTON:  Oh  come  now,  dearest,  you  can't  go  when  you're 
expected  for  dinner.  Nobody's  that  free. 

JHANSI:  Dinner!  A  dinner  to  celebrate  our  engagement! 
It's  humiliating,  Peyton.  I  should  take  you  by  the  hand  and 
you  and  I  should  walk  together  down  the  open  road. 

PEYTON  :   We  will,  Jhansi ;  we  will — in  time. 

JHANSI  :  We  should  go  now. 

PEYTON:   Think  so?   Mother's  going  to  have  turkey. 

JHANSI:    Better  a  dinner  of  berries  and  nuts — ! 

PEYTON  :  We'll  have  berries — cranberries,  and  nuts,  too. 

JHANSI:   Where  are  my  wraps? 

PEYTON:  (Seizing  her  and  kissing  her)  Some  day,  serene 
and  unhampered,  we'll  take  to  the  open  road — a  road  with 
berries  and  nuts. 

(Grandmother  Peyton  and  Mrs.  Root  have  appeared  at  door 
left.) 

MRS.  ROOT:  Mother,  this  is  Peyton's  friend,  Miss  Mason. 
One  of  our  important  students. 

GRANDMOTHER  (In  her  brittle  way)  :  Yes?  I  never  was  a 
very  important  student  myself.  I  did'nt  like  to  study.  Because 
my  family  were  professors,  I  suppose. 

MRS.  ROOT:  Peyton's  grandmother  is  a  descendant  of 
Gustave  Phelps — one  of  the  famous  teachers  of  pioneer  days. 

JHANSI  (Her  head  going  up)  :  I  am  a  descendant  of  people 
who  never  taught  anybody  anything! 


1 8  THE  PROVINCETOWN  PLAYS 

PEYTON:  Jhansi  and  I  were  just  going  to  finish  an  article 
on  Free  Speech  which  must  get  to  the  Torch  this  evening. 

GRANDMOTHER  (Moving  toward  easy  chair  near  the  fire)  : 
Free  Speech?  How  amusing. 

PEYTON:  You  may  be  less  amused  some  day,  grandmother. 
(Jhansi  and  Peyton  go  out  left.) 

GRANDMOTHER  :  That  may  be  a  free  speech.  I  wouldn't  call 
it  a  pleasant  one. 

MRS.  ROOT  (Sinking  to  the  divan)  :  Oh,  he  was  speaking  of 
the  open  road  again — berries  and  nuts — ! 

GRANDMOTHER  (Beginning  to  knit)  :  Berries  and  nuts? 
Well,  it  sounds  quite  innocuous  to  me.  Some  of  our  young 
people  are  less  simple  in  their  tastes. 

MRS.  ROOT  (In  great  distress)  :  Mother,  how  would  you 
like  to  see  your  grandson  become  a  gypsy? 

GRANDMOTHER:   Peyton  a  gypsy?  You  mean  in  a  carnival? 

MRS.  ROOT:   No,  not  in  a  carnival!   In  life. 

GRANDMOTHER:   But  he  is'nt  dark  enough. 

MRS.  ROOT:  And  is  that  the  only  thing  against  it!  I  had 
thought  you  would  be  a  help  to  me,  mother. 

GRANDMOTHER:  Well,  my  dear  Clara,  I  have  no  doubt  I 
will  be  a  help  to  you — in  time.  This  idea  of  Peyton  becoming 
a  gypsy  is  too  startling  for  me  to  be  a  help  instantly.  In  the 
first  place,  could  he  be  ?  You  can't  be  anything  you  take  it  into 
your  head  to  be — even  if  it  is  undesirable.  And  then,  why 
should  he  be?  Does'nt  he  still  teach  English  right  here  in  the 
university  ? 

MRS.  ROOT:  I  don't  know  how  much  longer  he  will  teach 
it.  He  said  the  other  day  that  American  literature  was  a  toddy 
with  the  stick  left  out.  Saying  that  of  the  very  thing  he's  paid 
to  teach !  It  got  in  the  papers  and  was  denounced  in  an  editorial 
on  "Untrue  Americans."  Peyton — a  descendant  of  John 
Peyton  of  Valley  Forge!  (motions  to  the  Revolutionary  por 
trait) —denounced  in  an  article  on  Untrue  Americans!  And 
in  one  of  those  awful  columns — those  silly  columns — they  said 
maybe  the  stick  hadn't  been  left  out  of  his  toddy.  But  it  isn't 
that.  Peyton  doesn't  drink — to  speak  of.  (A  look  to  door  left) 
It's  this  girl.  She's  the  stick.  And  I  tell  you  people  don't  like 
it,  mother.  It's  not  what  we  pay  our  professors  for.  Peyton 


TWO  PLAYS  BY  SUSAN  GLASPELL  19 

used  to  be  perfectly  satisfied  with  civilization.  But  now  he 
talks  about  society.  Makes  light  remarks. 

GRANDMOTHER:  I  should  say  that  was  going  out  of  his  way 
to  be  disagreeable.  What  business  has  a  professor  of  English 
to  say  anything  about  society?  It's  not  in  his  department. 

MRS.  ROOT:    I  told  Peyton  he  should  be  more  systematic. 

GRANDMOTHER:   How  did  this  gypsy  get  here? 

MRS.  ROOT:  She  was  brought  up  by  a  family  named  Mason. 
But  it  seems  she  was  a  gypsy  child,  who  got  lost  or  something, 
and  those  Masons  took  her  in.  I'm  sure  it  was  very  good  of 
them,  and  it's  too  bad  they  were'nt  able  to  make  her  more  of 
a  Christian.  She  is  coming  to  have  a  following  in  the  univer 
sity!  There  are  people  who  seem  to  think  that  because  you're 
outside  society  you  have  some  superior  information  about  it. 

GRANDMOTHER:  Well,  don't  you  think  you're  needlessly 
disturbed  ?  In  my  day,  a  young  man  would  be  likely  enough  to 
fall  in  love  with  a  good-looking  gypsy,  not  very  likely  to  marry 
her. 

MRS.  ROOT:  Times  have  changed,  mother.  They  marry 
them  now.  (Both  sigh]  Of  course,  it's  very  commendable  of 
them. 

GRANDMOTHER  (Grimly)  :  Oh,  quite — commendable. 

MRS.  ROOT:  I  was  brought  up  in  university  circles.  I'm 
interested  in  ideas.  But  sometimes  I  think  there  are  too  many 
ideas. 

GRANDMOTHER:  An  embarrassment  of  riches.  So  you  have 
set  out  to  civilize  the  young  woman  ? 

MRS.  ROOT:  I'd  rather  have  her  sit  at  my  table  than  have 
my  son  leave  some  morning  in  a  covered  wagon! 

GRANDMOTHER:  I  wonder  how  it  is  about  gypsies.  About 
the  children.  I  wonder  if  it's  as  it  is  with  the  negroes. 

MRS.  ROOT:   Mother! 

GRANDMOTHER:  It  would  be  startling,  would'nt  it? — if 
one  of  them  should  turn  out  to  be  a  real  gypsy  and  take  to  this 
open  road. 

MRS.  ROOT  (Covering  her  face)  :  Oh! 

GRANDMOTHER:   Quite  likely  they'd  do  it  by  motor. 

MRS.  ROOT  (Rising):  Mother!  — how    can    you    say    such 


2O  THE  PROVINCETOWN  PLAYS 

dreadful  things — and  just  when  I  have  this  trying  dinner.  Oh, 
I  wish  Bessie  would  come!  (Goes  to  window)  She  is  a  comfort 
to  me. 

GRANDMOTHER:   Where  is  Bessie? 

MRS.  ROOT:  She's  away  in  the  motor.  (Again  covers  face) 
Bessie  feels  dreadfully  about  her  brother.  She  is  trying  to  do 
something.  She  said  it  would  be  a  surprise — a  happy  surprise. 
(Someone  heard  in  the  hall)  Perhaps  this  is  Bessie — (Enter 
Mr.  Peyton)  Oh,  it's  Uncle  George, 

UNCLE  GEORGE:  Early  I  know.  Came  to  have  a  little  visit 
with  Elizabeth.  (Goes  to  Grandmother  and  shakes  hands) 
How  are  you,  young  woman? 

GRANDMOTHER:  My  nerves  seem  to  be  stronger  than  the 
nerves  I  see  around  me.  And  how  are  you,  George? 

UNCLE  GEORGE  :   Oh,  I'm  well. 

GRANDMOTHER  :    But —  ? 

UNCLE  GEORGE:   Responsibilities. 

GRANDMOTHER:   The  bank? 

UNCLE  GEORGE:  I'd  rather  run  ten  banks  than  a  tenth  of  a 
university.  You  can  control  money. 

MRS.  ROOT:  I'm  sorry,  Uncle  George,  that  Peyton  should 
be  adding  to  your  worries. 

UNCLE  GEORGE:   What's  the  matter  with  Peyton? 

GRANDMOTHER:   Wild  oats. 

UNCLE  GEORGE:  Well,  I  wish  he'd  sow  them  in  less  in 
tellectual  fields. 

MRS.  ROOT:  I  am  prepared  to  speak  freely  with  you,  Uncle 
George.  The  matter  with  Peyton  is  this  girl.  Well,  they're 
going  to  be  married.  Yes  (answering  his  gesture  of  protest) 
and  I  think  it's  a  good  thing.  She  won't  be  in  a  position  to  say 
so  much  about  freedom  after  she  is  married. 

UNCLE  GEORGE  :   But  they  say  she's  a  gypsy. 

MRS.  ROOT:  She  won't  be  a  gypsy  after  she's  Peyton's  wife. 
She'll  be  a  married  woman. 

UNCLE  GEORGE:  Yes,  but  in  the  meantime  we  will  have 
swallowed  a  gypsy. 

GRANDMOTHER:  And  I  was  just  wondering  how  it  would 
be  about  the  children. 

MRS.  ROOT:  Mother,  please  don't  be  indelicate  again. 
(Pause) 


TWO  PLAYS  BY  SUSAN  GLASPELL  21 

GRANDMOTHER:  Well,  if  there's  nothing  else  we  may  speak 
of,  let's  talk  about  free  speech.  They're  writing  a  paper  on  it 
in  there. 

UNCLE  GEORGE:  I  don't  know  what  this  university  is  com 
ing  to !  An  institution  of  learning !  It  is'nt  that  I  don't  believe 
in  free  speech.  Every  true  Amercan  believes  in  free  speech, 
but —  (Slight  Pause) 

GRANDMOTHER  (With  Emphasis)  :  Certainly. 

UNCLE  GEORGE:  Ask  them  to  come  out  here  with  their 
paper  on  free  speech.  I'll  be  glad  to  give  them  the  benefit  of  my 
experience. 

MRS.  ROOT:  Yes  it  will  be  delightful  to  all  be  together. 
(Exit  door  left) 

GRANDMOTHER:  This  girl  doesn't  look  to  me  like  one  who  is 
thirsting  for  the  benefit  of  another  person's  experience. 

UNCLE  GEORGE:  She's  a  bad  influence.  She's  leading  our 
young  people  to  criticise  the  society  their  fathers  have  builded 
up. 

GRANDMOTHER:  There's  a  great  deal  of  ingratitude  in  the 
world.  (Enter  Mrs.  Root  followed  by  Peyton  and  Jhansi) 

MRS.  ROOT:  I  told  Uncle  George  you  were  eager  to  bring 
him  and  Jhansi  together.  Jhansi,  this  is  Mr.  Peyton,  who  looks 
after  the  affairs  of  the  university  for  you  students.  Of  course 
you've  heard  about  Miss  Mason,  Uncle  George,  one  of  our — 
cleverest  students. 

UNCLE  GEORGE:  Yes,  we  were  speaking  of  Miss  Mason's 
cleverness  just  the  other  day — in  board  meeting. 

JHANSI:  And  just  the  other  day — at  the  student  assembly — 
we  were  speaking  of  how  you  look  after  the  affairs  of  the 
university  for  us. 

GRANDMOTHER:    I  hope  you  both  spoke  affectionately. 

UNCLE  GEORGE:  Well,  Peyton,  very  busy  I  take  it.  You're 
adding  to  your  duties,  are'nt  you? 

PEYTON:    Not  that  I  know  of. 

UNCLE  GEORGE:  Your  grandmother  s*aid  something  about 
a  high  falutin  paper  on  free  speech. 

PEYTON  :  I  suppose  that's  an  inherited  tendency.  You  know 
one  of  my  ancestors  signed  a  paper  on  free  speech.  It  had  a 
highfalutin  name :  "The  Declaration  of  Independence" ! 

MRS.  ROOT:    I  wish  Bessie  would  come! 


22  THE  PROVINCETOWN  PLAYS 

UNCLE  GEORGE:  Do  you  think  much  about  your  ancestors, 
Peyton  ? 

PEYTON:    Not  a  great  deal. 

UNCLE  GEORGE:  Peyton  has  some  rather  interesting  ances 
tors,  Miss  Mason.  There's  Captain  John  Peyton.  That's  his 
picture.  He  helped  win  one  of  the  battles  which  made  this 
country  possible — the  country  in  which  you  are  living.  And 
a  descendant  of  John  Peyton — Richard  Peyton  (indicates  other 
picture) — gave  the  money  which  founded  this  university — the 
university  in  which  you  are  now  acquiring  your  education. 

JHANSI  (Lightly) :  Perhaps  it  would  be  quite  as  well  if  this 
university — and  this  country — never  had  existed. 

MRS.  ROOT  :   I  don't  see  why  Bessie  doesn't  come ! 

JHANSI:  Of  course  I  look  at  it  as  an  outsider.  I  am  not  a 
part  of  your  society. 

UNCLE  GEORGE:   Peyton  is. 

MRS.  ROOT:    There's  Bessie!  (Bessie  rushes  in) 

BESSIE:  Grandmother!  (Swiftly  kisses  her)  How  wonder 
ful  to  have  you  with  us  again !  Dear  Uncle  George ! 

UNCLE  GEORGE:  Glad  you  got  here,  Bessie.  Your  mother 
has  been  looking  for  you. 

BESSIE  (With  a  look  around)  :  Isn't  it  beautiful  to  all  be 
together?  A  real  family  party!  And  now — we  have  a  moment 
or  two  before  dinner,  mother? 

MRS.  ROOT:  The  m3n  who  brought  the  turkey  in  from  the 
country  had  a  runaway,  so  it  was  a  little  late  in  arriving. 

BESSIE:  How  fortunate!  Oh,  it  does  seem  that  all  things 
work  together  for  the  best.  Mother,  I  have  had  a  completely 
successful  day! 

GRANDMOTHER:  Where've  you  been,  Bessie? 

BESSIE:  I've  been  fifty  miles  to  the  north — in  Baxter  County. 
Does  that  mean  anything  to  you,  Jhansi  ? 

JHANSI:    Nothing  whatever. 

BESSIE  (Still  breathlessly)  :  Dear  uncle,  I  hope,  you  will 
understand  what  I  am  about  to  do.  It  might  seem  unrestrained 
— not  in  the  best  of  taste,  but  it's  just  because  you  stand  for  so 
much  in  Peyton's  life  that  I  want  you  to  hear  our  good  news  as 
soon  as  we  hear  it  ourselves.  You  knew  that  these  two  child- 


TWO  PLAYS  BY  SUSAN  GLASPELL  23 

ren  were  in  love  and  going  to  be  married.  (A  bow  from  Uncle 
George)  You  know — Jhansi,  dear,  I  may  speak  very  freely, 
nr:y  I  not? 

JHANSI:   I  believe  in  free  speech. 

BESSIE  :  Yes — how  dear  of  you.  Jhansi  has  endured  in  proud 
silence  a  great  grief.  And  now,  dear  child,  because  of  the  touch 
ing  dignity  with  which  you  have  stood  outside  and  alone,  it  is  a 
moment  of  special  joyfulness  to  me  when  I  can  say — Welcome 
Within! 

PEYTON:  What  are  you  talking  about,  Bessie? 

BESSIE:  You  must  not  stand  outside  society!  You  belong 
within  the  gates.  You  are  one  of  us! 

JHANSI:  I'm  not. 

BESSIE  :  Dear  child  you  are  as  respectable  as  we  are. 

JHANSI  (Rising)  :  I  am  not. 

BESSIE:  Of  course,  you  can't  grasp  it  in  an  instant.  But  I 
have  looked  it  all  up,  dear.  I  have  the  proofs. 

PEYTON  :  Well  it  wasn't  your  affair,  Bessie. 

BESSIE:  I  made  it  my  affair  because  I  love  my  brother. 
Jhansi  dear,  (as  j)ne  who  tells  tremendous  good  news)  your 
father  was  Henry  Harrison,  a  milkman  in  the  town  of  Sunny 
Center — an  honorable  and  respected  man.  Your  parents  were 
married  in  the  Baptist  Church ! 

JHANSI:   I  deny  it!    I  deny  this  charge! 

BESSIE  (Stepping  to  the  rear  door)  :  Dear  Senator  and  Mrs. 
Byrd,  will  you  come  now? 

(Enter  State  Senator  Byrd  and  Mrs.  State  Senator  Byrd, 
Mrs  Byrd  carrying  a  large  book) 

BESSIE  :  Jhansi  dear,  you  are  about  to  enter  upon  the  happiest 
moment  of  your  life,  for  State  Senator  Byrd,  one  of  our  law- 
making  body,  is  a  cousin  of  your  dear  dead  mother. 

SENATOR  BYRD:  Aggie's  little  girl!  (Approaches  Jhansi  with 
outstretched  hands.  She  stands  like  a  rock) 

BESSIE:  And  here,  Jhansi,  is  your  cousin  Mrs.  Byrd,  who 
has  come  all  this  way  to  assure  you  you  have  a  family. 

MRS.  BYRD:  Indeed  you  have!  There's  Ella  Andrews,  one 
of  our  teachers — a  lovely  girl.  She's  your  first  cousin.  We  are 
second  cousins.  You  may  have  some  little  family  pride  in  know 
ing  that  I  was  last  spring  elected  President  of  the  Federated 
Clubs  of  Baxter  County.  Just  last  week  I  entertained  the 


24  THE  PROVINCE-TOWN  PLAYS 

officers  of  all  the  clubs  at  our  home — our  new  home,  erected 
last  year  after  your  cousin  Ephraim  completed  his  first  term  in 
the  upper  house  of  the  State  Legislature.  Your  cousin  Ephraim 
has  been  re-elected.  He  is  on  the  Ways  and  Means  Committee. 

UNCLE  GEORGE  (Approching  Senator  Byrd)  :  I  have  heard 
of  Senator  Ephraim  Byrd  of  the  Ways  and  Means  Committee. 
That  was  good  work  you  fellows —  (They  talk  aside) 

MRS.  ROOT:  And  to  think,  Jhansi,  that  your  cousin  Mrs. 
Byrd  is  a  prominent  clubwoman ! 

GRANDMOTHER  (After  a  look  at  Jhansi)  :  Her  cup  runneth 
over. 

MRS.  ROOT:  Isn't  Bessie  wonderful,  mother?  How  did  you 
find  it  all  out,  Bessie  ? 

BESSIE:  From  clue  to  clue  I  worked  my  way  to  Sunny 
Center.  I  would  say  to  myself — Do  this  for  Peyton ;  do  this  for 
Jhansi.  And  so,  I  heard  of  an  old  minister  who  had  been  there 
for  years  and  years.  I  went  to  him  and — he  had  married 
Jhansi's  father  and  mother!  Dearest  child,  your  mother  taught 
in  his  Sunday-School! 

SENATOR  BYRD:  Oh,  yes,  Aggie  loved  the  Baptist  Sunday- 
School! 

JHANSI:  It's  very  strange  that  my  mother — I  am  referring 
to  Mrs.  Mason — never  told  me  of  this! 

BESSIE:  But  she  never  told  you  you  wrere  a  gypsy,  either,  did 
she?  No;  she  just  wanted  you  to  think  you  were  their  own 
child.  And  then  I  suppose  you  heard  some  foolish  tale  at  school. 

MRS.  BYRD:  You  see  Jhansi's  mother  and  father — her  real 
ones — died  of  typhoid  fever  before  she  was  two  years  old. 
They  got  it  from  the  cows.  Well,  the  Harrisons  were  friends 
of  the  Mason's — they  all  worked  together  in  the  church — and 
so  they  took  Jhansi,  and  soon  after  that  they  moved  away  and 
we  lost  track  of  them.  You  know  what  a  busy  world  it  is — 
particularly  for  people  who  have  duties  in  their  community. 

JHANSI:    I  haven't  accepted  this  story!   You  can't  prove  it! 

(Mrs.  Byrd  impressively  hands  her  husband  the  book) 

SENATOR  BYRD:  "Iowa  descendants  of  New  England 
families." 

MRS.  ROOT  :  Oh,  yes  ;  that  is  one  of  the  books  in  which  our 
family  is  written  up!  (To  Peyton)  My  dearest  boy,  from  my 
heart  I  congratulate  you! 


TWO  PLAYS  BY  SUSAN  GLASPELL  25 

SENATOR  BYRD:  Pages  fifty-seven  to  sixty-one — inclusive, 
are  devoted,  Jhansi,  to  our  family. 

MRS.  BYRD:   My  own  family  appears  on  page  113. 

(Senator  Byrd  holds  the  book  out  to  Jhansi,  who  once  more 
stands  like  a  rock.  Uncle  George  steps  forward) 

UNCLE  GEORGE:   Oh,  you  are  a  descendant  of  Peter  Byrd. 

SENATOR  BYRD:  One  of  those  dare-devils  whose  leg  was  shot 
under  him  at  Bull  Run. 

BESSIE:   You  heard  that,  Jhansi? 

MRS.  ROOT:  A  descendant  of  Peter  Byrd! — whose  leg  was 
shot  under  him — 

JHANSI:  So  this  is  what  I  was  brought  here  for,  is  it?  To 
have  my  character  torn  down — to  ruin  my  reputation  and 
threaten  my  integrity  by  seeking  to  muzzle  me  with  a  leg  at 
Bull  Run  and  set  me  down  in  the  Baptist  Sunday-School  in  a 
milk-wagon!  I  see  the  purpose  of  it  all.  I  understand  the 
hostile  motive  behind  all  this — but  I  tell  you  it's  a  lie.  Some 
thing  here —  (Hand  on  heart) — tells  me  I  am  not  respectable! 

UNCLE  GEORGE:  Reaction. 

JHANSI  :  I  am  Jhansi — Jhansi — a  child  of  the  gypsies !  I  am 
a  wanderer!  I  am  an  outlaw! 

MRS.  BYRD:  Yes,  you  are  Jhansi.  And  did  you  ever  stop  to 
think  how  you  came  by  that  outlandish  name? 

JHANSI:    It  has  always  assured  me  of  my  birthright. 

MRS.  BYRD  :  Well,  you'd  better  look  in  your  geography.  You 
were  named  after  a  town  in  India  where  your  mother's  mission 
ary  circle  was  helping  to  support  a  missionary/^ 

SENATOR  BYRD:  Aggie  was  crazy  about  the  missionaries. 

JHANSI  (Falling  back,  breaking)  :  Peyton,  I  release  you  from 
our  engagement. 

PEYTON:  No.  N— o;  don't  do  that.  (Stoutly)  I  love  you  for 
yourself  alone — in  spite  of  anything  that  may  be  true.  But  I 
must  say  Bessie — ! 

JHANSI  (Beginning  to  sob)  :  I  can't  bear  it.  I  can't  bear  it! 
And  to  think  that  Peyton's  mother  was  an  illegitimate  child. 

MRS.  ROOT  (Dazed)  :  What's  that? 

GRANDMOTHER  (Rising)  :  Yes;  what  is  that? 

MRS.  ROOT:   Am  I  to  understand — ? 


26  THE  PROVINCETOWN  PLAYS 

GRANDMOTHER:  Am  I  to  be  told — at  my  age — that  I  gave 
birth  to  an  illegitimate  child  ?  This  is  a  surprise  to  me — and  not 
a  pleasant  one ! 

PEYTON  (To  Jhansi) :  It  would  have  been  better  not  to  have 
mentioned  that. 

UNCLE  GEORGE:  This  is  reaction.  I  think  perhaps  we  need 
a  physician. 

JHANSI:  I  don't  need  a  physician.  Peyton  certainly  told  me 
that  his  mother  was  an  illegitimate  child.  Of  course,  Peyton, 
if  you  were  just  boasting  about  your  family — say  so. 

UNCLE  GEORGE:  What  have  you  to  say,  Peyton? 

GRANDMOTHER:  Before  he  says  anything,  Bessie,  you  bring 
me  that  portfolio  from  the  lower  right-hand  corner  of  my  desk. 
Key  in  the  upper  left  hand  pigeon  hole. 

MRS.  ROOT:   Peyton! 

PEYTON  :  Why  I  didn't  mean  any  harm,  mother.  I  certainly 
didn't  mean  anything  against  you,  or  grandmother.  Quite  the 
contrary.  I  was  just  anxious  that  Jhansi  should  have  a  little 
respect  for  our  family.  It  didn't  seem  to  have  a  leg  to  stand  on. 

JHANSI  :   So  you  made  it  up — out  of  whole  cloth  ? 

PEYTON  :   No,  not  out  of  whole  cloth. 

GRANDMOTHER:  Out  of  what  cloth,  then?  Kindly  tell  me, 
out  of  what  cloth  ? 

MRS.  ROOT:    Peyton  is  not  himself. 

PEYTON  :  Well,  it  just  came  into  my  head  that  it  was 
possible.  You  see,  grandmother,  your  having  moved — I  do  wish 
you  could  see  that  I  meant  nothing  against  your  character. 
Absolutely  the  contrary.  But  your  having  moved — 

GRANDMOTHER:  My  having  moved  where? 

PEYTON  :  Your  having  moved  from  New  York  State  to  Ohio 
at  just  that  time — 

GRANDMOTHER:  I  always  did  like  to  travel.  Is  that  any 
thing  against  a  person's  character? 

PEYTON:    I  was  claiming  that  you  had  character. 

GRANDMOTHER:  I'll  stick  to  my  own,  thank  you.  I've  had 
it  quite  a  while  and  am  used  to  it.  But  I'd  like  to  know  right 
now  what  there  is  so  immoral  in  moving  from  one  state  to 
another — even  if  you  are  going  to  have  a  baby? 

JHANSI  (Raising  her  head)  :  There  is  nothing  immoral  in 
anything. 


TWO  PLAYS  BY  SUSAN  GLASPELL  27 

GRANDMOTHER:  Fiddlesticks.  (Bessie  returns  with  port 
folio)  You  found  it,  Bessie?  The  key?  Here,  Peyton;  come 
here.  (Opens  portfolio,  takes  out  a  rolled  paper)  Happily  pre 
served  for  this  defense  of  my  character  in  my  old  age,  is  my 
wedding  certificate. 

MRS.  BYRD:  This  is  painful.  (She  turns  and  looks  at  a  print 
on  the  rear  wall;  motions  Senator  Byrd  to  join  her) 

GRANDMOTHER  :  I  want  you  to  look  at  the  date — right  there 
beside  that  pink  cupid — cherub,  perhaps  it  is — anyway,  read 
aloud  the  figures  which  you  see. 

PEYTON  (Sullenly)  :  1869. 

GRANDMOTHER:  And  here,  in  this  other  document,  very 
fortunately  at  hand  to  meet  the  attacks  of  my  only  grandson 
upon  my  integrity,  what  do  you  read  there? 

PEYTON  :   Clara — aged  six  weeks. 

GRANDMOTHER:  And  the  date? 

(Mrs.  Root,  Bessie,  Uncle  George,  all  listen  a  little 
anxiously.) 

PEYTON:  December,  1871.  (A  sigh  of  relief) 

GRANDMOTHER:  I  trust  now,  Peyton,  you  will  admit  that 
a  woman  may  move  from  one  state  to  another  without  being 
dissolute.  (At  this  word  Mrs.  Root  is  unable  to  bear  more  and 
hides  her  face  in  her  handkerchief) 

UNCLE  GEORGE  (As  one  saving  the  situation)  :  Genealogy  is 
interesting.  One  is  democratic,  of  course,  but  when  there  is  be 
hind  one  what  there  is  behind  us,  Senator,  it  enhances  one's 
powers — responsibility — obligation.  (He  has  taken  up  the 
book  and  been  runnng  through  the  pages)  Descendants  of  John 
Peyton.  Here,  Peyton,  are  some  things  about  your  ancestors. 
Read  them.  Perhaps  then  instead  of  tearing  down  you  will 
have  an  impulse  to  build  up.  I  commend  this  book  to  you  young 
people  for  study.  It  will  do  you  no  harm  to  think  a  little  of 
those  worthy  men  from  whom  you  come.  (Marks  place  with 
a  card) 

JHANSI  (Springing  up)  :  I  shall  waste  no  time  thinking  of 
the  worthy  men  from  whom  I  come !  If  I  am  related  to  a  law 
maker — I  owe  it  to  my  soul  to  become  a  law-breaker! 

MRS.  ROOT:   You  see,  Bessie,  what  you  have  done. 

JHANSI  :  When  I  thought  there  was  in  me  no  taint  of  civil 
ization,  I  could  put  up  with  your  silly  conventions,  but  if  in  a 


28  THE  PROVINCETOWN  PLAYS 

material  sense  I  am  part  of  your  society,  then  I  have  a  spiritual 
obligation  to  fulfil  in  leaving  it !  Peyton,  respectability  threatens 
to  wall  us  in  and  stifle  us.  Are  you  ready  to  walk  from  this  house 
with  me  tonight,  entering  upon  a  free  union  that  says  that — 
(snaps  her  fingers)  for  law? 

PEYTON  :  Why — certainly. 

MRS.  BYRD:  Well,  if  it  comes  to  a  matter  of  not  caring  to 
claim  relationship,  we  certainly  hesitated  some  time.  Those 
Harrisons  were  not  all  they  should  be. 

JHANSI  (A  note  of  hope  in  her  voice)  :  No? 

MRS.  BYRD:  I  said  to  Senator  Byrd,  now  that  the  girl  is 
marrying  into  one  of  the  best  families  in  the  state — not  that 
that  influenced  us  especially,  but  I  said,  if  she  is  trying  to  make 
something  of  herself,  we  must  stand  by  her,  and  we  will  men 
tion  only  pleasant  things.  We  will  not  allude  to  what  her 
grandfather  did ! 

JHANSI:  What  did  he  do? 

SENATOR  BYRD:  He  burned  down  his  neighbor's  house  be 
cause  that  neighbor  chased  home  his  pigs. 

JHANSI:   Really?  Yes! — my  grandfather  would  do  that! 

PEYTON  :  Were  any  of  the  family  found  in  the  charred 
remains  ? 

SENATOR  BYRD:  The  family,  I  believe,  escaped. 

MRS.  BYRD  :  But  no  thanks  to  old  man  Harrison. 

JHANSI:  No! —  I'm  sure  grandfather  meant  them  to  burn. 
(Seizing  book)  I  wonder  if  grandfather's  protest  is  recorded 
in  this  book! 

MRS.  BYRD:  That  book  does  not  emphasize  unfortunate 
occurrences. 

MRS.  ROOT  :  And  how  right  it  is !  One  should  think  only  of 
the  good  in  human  nature. 

PEYTON  (Looking  with  Jhansi)  :  What  is  this  fine  print  at 
the  bottom  of  the  page? 

MRS.  BYRD  (Hastily)  :  That  is  not  important. 

SENATOR  BYRD:  It  is  in  fine  print  because  it  is  not  important. 

PEYTON:  One  of  the  descendants  of  Peter  Byrd.  (To 
Jhansi)  The  leg  at  Bull  Run,  you  know.  He — 

MRS.  ROOT:  Peyton,  remember  that  you  are  in  your  own 
house. 


TWO  PLAYS  BY  SUSAN  GLASPELL  29 

PEYTON:  "Unfaithful  to  the  high  office  of  treasurer  of  the 
Baxter  County  Cemetery  Association." 

JHANSI  (Gasping,  then  beaming):  Why — why! — a  grave 
robber !  Was  he  a  near  relative  ? 

MRS.  BYRD:  I  must  say,  Miss  Root,  that  we  did  not  come 
here  to  have  our  family  inquired  into  as  far  back  as  ancient 
history ! 

MRS.  ROOT:  No,  Mrs.  Byrd,  I  quite  agree  with  you  that  it 
is  not  necessary  to  go  too  far  back  in  any  family. 

GRANDMOTHER:    Neither  necessary  nor  desirable. 

BESSIE:   Those  early  days  must  have  been  very  trying. 

PEYTON  :  Jhansi !  The  fine  print  of  your  family  is  thrilling. 
Here  is  a  man — 

MRS.  ROOT:  Peyton,  stop  reading  from  that  tiresome  and 
obsolete  book.  It  is  not  hospitable. 

MRS.  BYRD:  Turn  to  your  own  family  history  and  read  a 
little  fine  print  in  it!  (The  other  members  of  the  Peyton-Root 
family  give  each  other  startled,  nervous  glances) 

PEYTON:  Why  what  a  lovely  idea.  Uncle  has  marked  it 
for  us.  (After  looking)  Fine  print  in  our  family? 

MRS.  BYRD  ( Grimly )  :   It's  there. 

BESSIE:  Genealogy  is  so  confusing.  I  never  could  under 
stand  it. 

MRS.  ROOT:  And  I  don't  see  why  one  should  try  to  under 
stand  it.  Live  well  in  the  present — that  is  sufficient. 

GRANDMOTHER:  It  looks  to  me  as  if  that  book  was  not 
thoughtfully  edited.  I'm  surprised  it  has  sold. 

PEYTON  (Snatching  book  from  Jhansi)  :  Jhansi  !  don't  want 
to  boast!  I  hope  I  shall  not  become  a  snob.  You  too  have  a 
family — and  they  had  their  impulsive  moments — but  what  was 
the  most  largely  low-down  thing  a  man  of  early  days  could  do  ? 
(Right  of  stage  Peytons  and  Roots  draw  together  anxiously; 
left,  the  Byrds  wait  complacently)  As  uncle  has  pointed  out, 
Jhansi,  I  am  a  descendant  of  Captain  John  Peyton.  But  when 
you  have  a  remote  ancestor,  you  also  have  his  less  remote  des 
cendants — a  fact  sometimes  overlooked.  Well,  Stuart  Peyton — 

BESSIE:    Mother,  I  wonder  if  the  turkey  isn't  ready  now? 

MRS.  ROOT:   It's  time  for  it  to  be  ready.  (Exit) 

PEYTON  :  Stuart  Peyton  — "convicted  of  selling  whiskey  and 
firearms  to  the  Indians."  (Assumes  an  overbearing  attitude) 


3O  THE  PROVINCETOWN  PLAYS 

MRS.  BYRD:  I  guess  the  early  days  were  trying,  in  more 
than  one  family. 

PEYTON  (Peering  into  the  book) :  And  what  is  this?  What 
is  this?  Stuart  Peyton  was  the  father  of  Richard  Peyton — 

JHANSI  :  Who  founded  this  university ! 

PEYTON  (In  the  voice  of  Uncle  George) :  The  university  in 
which  you  are  now  acquiring  your  education. 

MRS.  BYRD:  Oh  I  have  no  doubt  that  inducing  the  Indians 
to  massacre  the  whites  was  profitable. 

PEYTON:   A  good  sound  basis  for  the  family  fortune. 

UNCLE  GEORGE  :  Young  man,  you  go  too  far ! 

PEYTON  (Holding  book  out  to  Uncle  George)  :  In  thinking 
of  these  worthy  men  from  whom  I  come?  (Turns  to  wall  on 
which  hang  portraits  of  John  and  Richard  Peyton)  We  don't 
seem  to  have  Stuart's  picture.  Jhansi,  I  don't  know  that  we 
need  to  leave  society.  There  seems  little — crevices  in  these  walls 
of  respectability. 

JHANSI:  And  whenever  we  feel  a  bit  stifled  we  can  always 
find  air  through  our  family  trees! 

MRS.  BYRD:  I  think,  Senator,  that  we  will  not  remain 
longer. 

(Enter  Mrs.  Root.) 

MRS.  ROOT:  Mary  was  just  coming.  Now  we'll  have  dinner! 

BESSIE:  Yes,  a  little  family  party  to  celebrate  the  happy — 

PEYTON  (Again  bent  over  his  family  history) :  Grandmother! 
Here's  something  about  your  ancestor,  Gustave  Phelps. 

GRANDMOTHER  (Rising.  With  weight) :  Peyton — close  that 
book. 

CURTAIN 


Printed  by 

RODERIC  C.  PENFIELD 

11  Barrow  Street,  New  York 

in  Greenwich  Village 


